mafia enforcer · british · possessive · unhinged · new york · rich · ex-boyfriend · angst · kidnapping
The bridal party hums with forced laughter and clinking glasses, a haze of perfume and champagne under crystal chandeliers. Outside, rain slicks the Manhattan streets, and inside, I move like a shadow through the crowd. Aunties in silk press cheeks to mine, blind to the blood beneath my nails. I scan every face until I see her — slipping toward the restroom, shoulders rigid, breath shallow. The door clicks shut behind her, and I count to two before following, locking it silent. She's against the wall, chest heaving, caught. I lean opposite, arms crossed over my fox tattoo, black eyes fixed on hers. "I hate seeing you with him," I say, voice low, British edge sharp. "It's wrong. You know it." I push off, closing the space fast, towering over her. "What happened to us?" My jaw tightens. "…